Autumn is very often a romantic time of year for Kevin and I. The world is so obviously amazing, so vividly lovely and overnight so astonishingly different from the place it was before. It shouldn't be surprising that autumn is so often the time of year that inspires big changes for us.
Last autumn was no different. Except that it was entirely different. We decided to take a real risk, and explored lots of ways to be adventurous, including an opportunity to move our five to Boise, Idaho, where we had no family, no friends, had never visited, and knew virtually nothing about. We came very close, but we didn't do that. It would have been crazy. Idaho? Who do we know in Idaho? Can anyone recommend a good school or a safe neighborhood or an upscale grocery in Boise? No one we know. Insane. Maybe we should have done that.
We took another risk instead. Which seemed still exciting! and new! and a fresh start! but a bit less... you know... risky. We made plans to move to my hometown. To live not just close to home, but actually in to my old home, with my parents. We told ourselves and everyone around us that it was time to be near my family. To immerse ourselves in the large, warm and welcoming people who from the beginning have been my people. I left a job that I loved, which was one of the hardest things I have ever done. But it was supposed to be hard. That meant that we were doing it right, in the spirit of taking chances. I didn't have to hold my breath for very long before the perfect new job turned up, in just the right place at precisely the right moment. We told ourselves that this was a sign. That everything was working out. That we had surrendered to the flow, and would be swept effortlessly into the next blissful chapter of our lives.
There was effort, of course. We could not abandon our eighteen-year life in the Twin Cities without the small headaches of moving boxes and licensure in another state, or without the profound heartache of goodbyes to family and community.
Kevin's family is =here= and my family is =there=, and in the name of fairness, it was time to reverse that. The plan was to live with my parents, to sell our town home, then to find a new home in Everybody Loves Raymond proximity to my children's grandparents. How adventurous, right?
If the plan had worked out, I probably wouldn't be mentally picking it apart in this way, would I? It didn't work out. I still don't have enough distance to know exactly why. I know that the flow we thought we had tapped into never led us to a perfect new job for Kevin. I know that the uncertainty about our family's future seemed overwhelmingly frightening many days. I know that the warm and welcoming family we came to be near was always present, but that we never made enough time for them. I know that after the inspiration to change that happens in autumn, the long, dark, and cold winter stretches on endlessly, offering no encouragement to get up! get out! meet your new community!
But. I know that we never lost touch, which was one lucky thing.
I know that my family experienced living in a multi-generational household in a way that only a few of our peers do these days. That was another lucky thing.
I know that we agonized over our future, and that I did that thing that you're never ever supposed to do. I spent days dwelling on regrets. It was ridiculous. There is a reason you're not supposed to burden yourself with disappointment over the path that you did not take. No good came from those hours of brooding.
For much of the winter, it felt as though we were plodding along with no path. We couldn't look forward to the spring when our River Falls home would sell and we could buy a new home, because what if our River Falls home didn't sell? And what if it did, but Kevin didn't have a job, and we couldn't afford a new house payment? We couldn't enroll the kids in summer activities, because where would we be by the time summer came? New Berlin? Some other suburb? Saint Paul? River Falls? Boise? Some people thrive under circumstances of uncertainty. Some people are so overcome by the need to define their plan that they find themselves unable to function even within the safety net that is living in an affluent suburb with one's parents, rent free.
Among the paths we could have followed, we chose the one that seemed most familiar. We chose to cut ties for the second time in under half a year, and go back to where we started. Well, not exactly to where we started - we live now 4.3 miles north of where we did in December.
Just like the last time we decided to uproot, the decision itself was devastatingly awful, but once it was made, the flow returned. Jobs turned up. School spots opened. A new home welcomed us. Our old home found new owners (officially, on July 2!). Our community welcomed us back with open arms. I am trying mightily not to regret.
I am failing at that, mostly. There are a hundred thousand tasks to keep my brain and hands occupied, and audio books when all else fails. But one innocent text message from my mom or from my sister, and I can't remember where I am or where we're all supposed to be. I guess the answer is right here, in this place, but who can prove it?
After our second move of 2015, I accepted a temporary position in a field where I previously had little experience. I became a stay at home mom, and by accepted, I mean I was offered no viable alternative. I am incredibly fortunate to be given the opportunity to return to my old employer (different job, same department, lots of the same awesome people), but health organizations are meticulous about making sure their clinicians are qualified to provide care. All the necessary checking, double checking, filling out of forms, emailing of pdfs and meeting of committees takes time. Months, often. My hospital decided they would be ready for me in late June, which made me wild with loss-of-wages anxiety for a day or so. I've recovered from my panic attack brilliantly, and have even countered, finally agreeing to start work after we return from our summer vacation in late July.
Meanwhile, I am scheming to turn my temporary gig into a long term job with health benefits and a retirement package. I like getting up when my kids get up. I love being always available to shuttle people from one activity to another, and to volunteer at any school activity, any duration, any day. I do miss the paycheck. And the benefits. I promise to appreciate these weeks without complaint. Er, 85% complaint-free.
In Kevin's career, not much has changed. He kept his position when we moved in December, but was allowed to work remotely. This was an experiment for the most part, and at least from my perspective, it was a failed one. He is back in the office in person now, doing all those things that I understand so little about, surrounded by those who undoubtedly missed his daily physical presence more than they ever thought they would.
Wish us luck on this path. We don't get to know whether it is the best one. But we get to keep each other, which seems more than fair to me.
